


Alone Time

by squeequeg



Category: Lois McMaster Bujold - Vorkosigan series
Genre: F/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:TigerKat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeequeg/pseuds/squeequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the best way to get Miles to leave a room? Cordelia/Aral, total fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written under a now-defunct pseud for Yuletide 2008.

_It's a problem for the philosophers,_ Cordelia thought as she heard the happy chatter coming from the library yet again. _Does my son become more tiresome on purpose, or is it simply that I notice it more when it's inconvenient for me?_

For two weeks, he'd been pacing around Vorkosigan House, alternately glaring at everything or turning his wit into a blade and flaying everyone in sight. It wasn't even as if he'd been particularly thwarted lately. As far as she could tell Miles was just cranky.

 _And unfortunately for us, she thought, when he gets cranky he gets curious. And there are some issues that Lady Vorkosigan wishes to discuss with the Prime Minister in private._ Not quite matters of state, but certainly ones that merited more attention than the few moments stolen at night. And her dear, brave, _infuriating_ son wanted in on every single one of these conversations.

Right now he'd ensconced himself in the library, on the far side of the room from where Aral sat close to the window, examining yet another of Illyan's reports. To all appearances, her son was pursuing an apparently frivolous afternoon spent reading, but Cordelia knew as soon as she brought up any subject of importance, he'd be listening with every fiber of his body.

 _He used to do this when we were figuring out his birthday presents, too,_ she thought.

She tapped the doorframe as she passed, just to let father and son know she was here. Miles greeted her with a wave; Aral looked up from his work and smiled.

 _That smile,_ she thought. _That smile undid me back when we first met, and it can still undo me completely._ She smiled back, and the first of an idea began to wake in her mind.

She crossed the library, avoiding Miles' stack of trashy novels (the ones on the bottom were distinctly worn, though he'd have denied it if she pointed it out) and joined her husband by the window, gazing out at the groomed lawns. "This view," she said. "I don't know why, but it seems there's something missing from it."

"An invasion force?" Miles offered. "Twelve hundred Imperial troops, declaring eternal love for you? A parade? Don't be vague, Mother. Tell us your grand plans for the front lawn."

Aral glanced out the window. "How so?" he said.

"I was just thinking about Brillat -- you remember that town? The one with the hot springs?" She certainly remembered; Brillat had been one of the first towns they'd visited, shortly after her arrival on Barrayar. They had discovered a tiny hostel with geothermically heated baths and had spent rather more time there than they had originally intended. They'd also scandalized the other guests, to the point where Aral had paid the hostel keeper quite a bit extra to make up for the ones who'd left "because they couldn't get a good night's sleep, not with all the noise and carrying-on."

Aral's eyes widened slightly, but his lips quirked. He flicked a glance at Miles, then returned his gaze to her. "Indeed I do," he said. "Are you suggesting we add some kind of hot springs here?"

"What, to this pile?" Miles shook his head. "We could seal up one of the ballrooms and turn it into a swimming pool, how's that?"

Aral and Cordelia both ignored him. "Perhaps not hot springs," she said. "Though those do have their advantages."

"I'd given some thought to a pond." Pond? "With perhaps an island in it." Ah. Like the islands off Vorkosigan Surleau. "For boating." Oh yes, the boat . . . although Aral had been upset later when he learned the boat was not quite so secluded as he'd like -- apparently Negri had used the term "canoodling" -- so they'd made a point of changing venues. "And maybe a little boathouse." Oh yes. The boathouse.

"Are you mad?" Miles' brow furrowed. "You'd have enough room to paddle once round a heap of dirt, and that's it."

 _Don't knock paddling, kid._ "Oh, boating has its fine points. Very fine." Aral's eyes gleamed wickedly, and she had to school her features into some form of composure. "Perhaps an addition of some kind -- a winter pavilion, perhaps, with heated tiles." Though Aral had always said he didn't notice the cold floor after the first couple of seconds . . . and carpeting gave them rugburn, mainly because neither of them noticed much . . .

"You think so?" He leaned forward and caught her hand in his. "I was thinking maybe just a patio, with perhaps a large hammock." He turned her hand over, running his fingers over the crease between thumb and palm.

Cordelia shivered happily. _Is it because he knows me so well, that he can still wake my body to desire, or is it that every time I wake anew to him? Or -- for a third option -- do I simply respond because he knows me so well? You would think that after all these years, I'd know my responses and his, and yet we still surprise each other, joyfully surprise each other._

 _Let the philosophers fuss about that,_ she thought, and laced her fingers with his. _I'm certainly not going to._ Aloud, she said, "Any changes in the -- landscape -- would, of course, be yours to determine, my lord."

"I'm certain I could think of a few interesting layouts." He brushed his lips over the back of her hand, and Cordelia caught her breath. "My lady."

"I'm certain you could," she replied, or tried to. "My lord."

Across the room, Miles cleared his throat and stood up. "I am not a prude," he said in his most acid tones. "I can admit that members of my family -- my parents, even -- must have had sex at least once. However, I don't see any reason why I have to be reminded of it in twenty-meter-tall flashing letters. That are on fire." He gathered up his books and departed, shaking his head.

Aral glanced out the window and held up his fingers in a silent countdown. At the count of one, the door slammed. "Well done, Captain," he said.

"I thought so myself." She grinned, taking the time to explore his hand again, the lines of it, the creases and calluses.

"So what matter was so very important that we had to discuss it alone?"

"Oh," she said absently, running her fingers over the base of his palm. "It can wait."

"Not important at all, then." Aral pulled her closer. "Comparatively speaking."

"Comparatively." Even as they kissed, she could feel his smile against hers.

* * *

One unexpected side effect of the afternoon's "ruse" was that for the next ten days, any time Cordelia addressed her husband as "my lord," Miles snapped "Oh, for God's sake!" and stormed out of the room. Which brought up one last philosophical question, Cordelia reflected. Were she and Aral just making use of the unprecedented amounts of time they had to themselves, or had her son suddenly developed precognitive abilities?

Exhausted but happy, she snuggled further into the couch -- this time in the solar, out of which they'd chased Miles for the third time -- and brushed a kiss against Aral's fingertips. This was one question that could go unanswered.

  



End file.
